a way aways (cold steel# iii)

a way aways

part iii dedicated
to kali to kila
to february 12, 2013 = 11


She takes
yer rules-of-road
yer mandates federal
yer ideas of fair
yer fears...

she licks them speechless

swallowed
the music-the man-the mainstream

 swallowed
the line-the linear-the madmadlineage

swallowed 
the age-of-fadness' rivercesspoolz

fell
into her wake
deconditioned
decommissioned
transmissions.....

swallowed
into her lake like history
that which B
swallowed by
the sea

this sucker she
will make you her bitch
and liquefy all the earth
around us

you and me both

this fucker
will have us
suck fumes

FUCK - uuuuuuumes

she whines
ignited
turned over
her oilpans full with
blackblood, she

unassumes

like
no one
never knew


but, i think,
strange to say
she loves somehow
through cold rain of
insect-stung steel

cause
that was back then
wasn't that?

cause now
she is all
opened up
on open road...

carrying my needy ass again
she sounds
 like a ten
out of ten


and she carries
me and mine and
our kid

eyes full moon
our kid
what me made
we made

she marries
our nineteen eighty
static images 
small town to suburban
to urban...

she crosses
the many states
of miss america...

compelling 
telling
turning

toward all
our consciousness...

always
a great distance
incomparable

like steel
and flesh

a safe way aways
sending up steam
behind lawn-hose-sprays

ribbons of rainbow
summer hydrant
waters
in our war against
the roads we travel

residuals
washed off her

then quiet dripping
in the garage
we leave her
safely kept

a safe distance
while we send up steam
beneath showerheads
 in our home...

safely kept

steady-dripping
the day's residue
toward the drains

a way
  aways
   leaves us

-fin-

cold steel got love like us -ii-

cold steel got love like us  -ii-
by katya mills
dedicated to my junked 19080 chevy impala


Fresh enough to commute with me. despite her thirty years. and mine.
rough and ragged we went. city to city. sometimes spent. sometimes
full up with gas, speed, and adrenaline. she held me up. she moved me.
city to city. all around the bay. we looked hard 2 most. until you looked
close. we looked funny 2 hustlers, rough & ragged, pushin' double dubs
down international boulevard. They laughed at us girls slidin' on down
macarthur... rollin' slow like gangsters down market or west.

Some stopped and wondered how we came to be. Then pushed easily
past us in their escalade suv's. She and i liked 2 steady watch the watchers
watch as we steady dust them...nahh. not usually, anyway. but we didn't
need to wipe the dust off. My baby was color of dirt.

To get behind the wheel was rollin' back the years for sure. that heavy chevy.
 the steel. the weight. i can feel it. i roll my head back 2 see through clouds.
dust and cracks in the mirror. the wheel like a snake through my black gloved hands.
she rolls us into the far most lane and i kick her train-in-drive. In a second or less,
she kicked back.

We roll over and outside the lines. any poles in our way get bent. i floor her
down the final corridors of early morning fog...her old school. pedal steel. collapses the
wide acute-angle  press 2 floor.

She had had enough of me. i couldn't get enough of her. me and my panic patterned
adrenaline rush commutes over the bay. she lived a life volcanic. She ran best hot.
moved slow in a way, with gravity. Memories always euphoric on my mind.

She was hot by birthright-- sweet, patented, american steel.

i've been a bitch, and i will again, soon

Imagine this....  like maybe you're a multiple. Imagine that! Explore your own dissociative. Where do you go when you fail to associate? Are you hangin' with the Protestants? Are you a rebel or does it feel good to think you might be one? Or wait, maybe you're more in the class of those who just wanna be alone. Nothing personal. Just  Or if you have already accepted your various ways of being... then great. Or if you do not believe you are anything greater than one single organic work of genius. Okay. Cool. Feel that way.

You suck, Miss Always One Step Ahead! You really really suck!
 Who said that? No one wants to claim it. You have the general direction and you're eyes are generally staring in it. But no one wants to narc out the heckler. Why? Maybe because people do not like to be narcs. Maybe because the one who said it is clearly a fucking full grown coward, can't stand behind their defamation? They crapped and forgot to flush?

 So what. Go ahead then, discredit them completely and not lose your lunch over a few flat words hurled at you. You. Miss Can't Get Over Herself.  Do you care to flirt with disaster? Miss Close to Two Steps Behind. Every five seconds you seem to demand a new moniker. Swiss Miss with Feigned Showcased Neutrality.

A subject clearly talked out, burned out. Clearly yesterday's news experiencing upper perastalsis to regurgitate the day before. Even perastalsis fights the phone call. Sees no reason to regurgitate the already known quantity that is heavy and burdensome. Yes, You. Miss Succubus sucks you dry within thirty feet of her fucked up energy.

Even if you're undeniably one step behind, like, even if it's a fact you cannot contest, even if its proven in court and the gavel has ended the circus... even if only god can judge you and  has judged you Miss One Step Behind, even then you will predictably do what you do. You will find some fuckin' desert shaman or self-described psychic who found some real estate to rent on the edge of the  Fuck you. And you and you and you!  You can be a real bitch.

Clouds are the wave of the present. Most of us computer literates turned away from the concept of shared storage somewhere other than our bricks and mortar western digital terrabyte or sd attache or micro sd. Whatever. Try not to get too caught up in storing all your shit, your videos, your music, your voicemails, your emails, your texts, your mms's, your fancy redresses. Because its all gonna be immaterial when the universe pulls it into a dark matter vortex. The destruction of all that bullshit, consider it the anti-sex. yeah, do that. consider it your homework. or consider this post washed up and done. gargle and spit out. fresh and clean like you love it.

cold steel got love like us -i-

cold steel got love like us
by katya mills 


I remember I once had her...I remember this well. The blue steel. In the eyes, reflected off the glass of bottles and bottlecaps which had been rolled smooth into the street. The saddle brown leather was matte, in opposition to the glossy deep sky blue. The kinda deep blue you rarely see in city skies anymore.

Ya, I once had her. Around the time shit got crazy for us, the whole web of us, maybe a core of ten or twenty, interconnected and related intrinsically to a surrounding second tier group of maybe fifty or sixty. I had her at the start, when I knew very little of what was to come. She kept her single tone metallic gold finish, when it all started.

She showed me in somehow, though i never knew the likes of her before. What was foreign to me became so intimately familiar. What a shock. Then I felt something special had arrived. So of course I showed her off.

This felt quite natural, our coinciding, however unbelievable. We would not settle for less. She would not. I would not. Sometimes Hollywood comes out of anywhere, thin air like. Hollywood is Hollywood. Often the simple task proceeding from such a discovery, is to arrange the travel itinerary, from wherever to California.

We were already California. I just had to show her off. She just had to let me, and she did! She really did! No need to acquire the funds, the permissions, then pack up and bid au revoir to the extended or nuclear family. There was not and should not have been any dissent. When you see this, you know this. Real end of the rainbow shit. Storybook status. Like we already made history, before we made history...

Citizen K (subsection D)

Who was this citizen #K ... and who gives a goddamn fuck, anyway? She too would be subject to the necessary scrutiny that any Org under constant threat of infiltration by the enemy required of its members. And yes, this was an exclusive Org. The defense of freedom was no ordinary task. No wafflers allowed. Same to any element unrelated or disinterested in the cause at hand. Background in advertising? See ya later. Witnesses to the revolution? Take a walk. Unless you have that light in your eye, that readiness we demand. No! birdwatchers need not apply. Investment bankers? Brokers? Well come on in, we need the ones who were insiders once and turned away forever. Potential secret weapons. They may know the enemy well! But are they akin to our cause? Come, come, let's talk. Veterans? yes, yes, we most certainly need purveyors and conduits of the imminent asskicking we are to prepare for the corporate slug. The proprietors behind them, shopkeepers and small business mom and pops? Yes yes! You know our pain so succinctly! Come to our table. Please.

Ace of spades carryied the flush. The Org. grew larger and larger in no time at all, despite one of two being turned away at the door. The leaders were many and came into clarity in no time. The others were drawn like magnets being magnetized. Clubs in the back sported diamonds, and threw darts at all the hearts. Half-alpha, half-numeric. Take a letter, take a letter! Oh, did you fail that test? Now you're numbered.

Halfway to her lips. Then citizen #K sang with them what had been held so close inside, close to her heart yet unable to breathe. Before now. Now the passsion spilled out like  the lyrics of economic injustices, bank fraud, white collar allowances and tax cut phobic politicos. Half-baked, her anarcho-socio-cap-in-your-ass-free range capitalism. Confessedly untried and untrue ideologies. Halfway out her shell and barely visible to the world yet, she offered all apologies. Everywhere she went, they locked arms with her. Less confusing, she believed, now there was some locus from which to act and, if necessary, act out.

Citizen K (subsection C)

The expectation was to defend the freedoms otherwise self-evident since the declaration of independence was emblazoned with signatures of the well known freedom fighters of the late eighteenth century, North America. Sadly, not one Native American put ink on this document. Which one could argue, demonstrated the self-evident hypocrisy of the time. Still, the natives would get their due, in time.

Okay. Anything less than complete immersion would be discarded. Anything other than Anarchy in its original form was unacceptable. The stakes were peak. No room for error. Whatever fell outside expectation became detritus, and emptied shells of varied ideas and opinions bore witnes to their having become decidedly nonextant.

The defense of freedoms was weighed down by nothing but its own failing in defending the uninheritable lands and deeds and rights of the native peoples it so subjugated or neglected. Nothing could stop the momentum of the settlers settling. Until centuries later, when a parallel could be drawn between the Indigenous peoples efforts toward reclamation of their history, as it had been often so brutally and intentionally destroyed, and the great Thirst of the 21st century middle class, in its push to hold on to a democratic principle within a capitalist nation under siege by coporate interest, omnipresent.


Said lobby was arguably omnipotent, for it came in interwoven in the fabric of human life and lifestyle. However, it was this exact possibility (presumed not yet achieved) which created the space for an uprising to counter. AKA The defense of freedoms by awakened and courageous defenders of freedom subsequently giving of their time and energy towards the cause, the aforementioned expectation....the defense.

This did not and would not and could not preclude an Offensive! Citizen K held in her heart both a yearning for and precognition of the mass awakening of the middle class, in momentum and movement toward reclamation of freedoms deluged and undermined and in effect stolen from them by conglomerate lobbied interests foreign to them yet immediately impacting their quality of life in diverse yet consistently toxic and unacceptable fashion.

Citizen K (subsection B)

Shadowing herself seemed a nice way to revisit her own capacities. Particularly the ability to map, self[ orient.  Only through her innate abilities, might she return to her natural homeostasis, then produce her beats proper. Still. All this inner work could not be possible unless she maintain her understanding of and parallax with the external truth. The locus, the place. The context in which she might exercise her rights and her powers, judiciously, in the world. All of which required not so much success on any level, but a more tangible, objective criteria...


A level of cash. A measure of cream. A maintenance of the corps vitality. Providence in the form of food and shelter, and, the new element recently introduced to the system (and still vastly misunderstood); nutrient psychopharmaceuticals. She knew about sustenance. She allied with providence. She had only to choose her method. How to proceed. And as the 21st century steamed on, metal theft on your local graveyard shift, USA, began to appeal to her as a means to this very end. Of course, her goal would be metallic reclamation. Not theft. Theft was a sentence they might give her, when they denied the claims. They always denied any existence of source ownership, placing reclamation efforts in jeapordy.



 Yet they themselves introduced nothing, no deed or title, to demonstrate any claim or ownership of the particularly vital material element at stake. This was the vulnerability through which the courageous might enter at great risk of material life, a point whereby the house of cards might be finally named and revealed, thus to take the monoliths down. Proof of insubstantiate cancer polluting our freedoms. Trespassing our rights. Destroying our country's original authenticity. The promised freedoms outlined and secured in the amendments and the constitution itself.

Follows . Nov 2011 post. Citizen K (A)